Unwarranted Salvations
by enaskoritsi
Summary: .: Bruce/Wally :. After Batman gets injured in more ways than one, Flash steps up with his best to make things better, or at least, right again.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Justice League, it's characters, or anything associated.

_Author's Note: _Hooray! A BatFlash multichapter! I hope you all enjoy it! Thanks to my friend D (can't remember the numbers in her username) for looking this over and giving suggestions.

Just a comment before I forget. I have no idea what Batman/Bruce's eye color is in this universe. I remember in B: TAS, he had little black dots that made him look like Fred Flintstone, and in the New Batman Adventures, I remember him having really pretty blue ones. I think it went back and forth in Justice League, but I prefer my Batman with blue eyes, so such he shall have.

Please review. Reviews are love, and of course, they lead to faster updates. :)

* * *

The atmosphere was unbelievably tense, like every atom and molecule was awkwardly standing on edge. The hushed hum of nervous chatter and obligated conversation only added an annoying buzz to the mix, rather than driving off the discomfort of silence.

On the other hand, it was a wake, and Wally wasn't sure if smiles and laughter would've been appropriate anyway.

He'd just arrived himself, feeling really out of place in the kind of suit he used maybe once a year, tops. At the moment, he was hovering around the doorway, eager for human contact but a little apprehensive all the same. When he noticed John and Shayera almost hidden in the corner, he couldn't help but smile in relief and bounce over at a speed that was only a little bit out of the ordinary.

"Hey guys!" he grinned with his greeting, flinching at the reproaching glares they shot his way. Apparently he'd been a little too chipper.

"Go talk to him," John was muttering while clearing his throat, continuing on with what Wally guessed was their previous conversation.

"You go talk to him, " Shayera shot back, adding an elbow into John's side for incentive. John's narrowed eyes flickered towards the front of the room, hidden behind rows of unidentifiable bodies all dressed in somber black clothes.

"He'd react better if you go," John grumbled, crossing his arms and shrinking into himself in as manly a way as he could, trying to avoid another jab.

"Be a man!" Shayera demanded. "When did you become such a coward?"

"I don't see you rushing over," John accused, but Shayera was not deterred.

"He must need someone to talk to," she urged, her voice still carrying a warning bite. "He's our friend-"

At John's petulant look, she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Fine, our teammate, which is completely besides the point-"

Finally tuning in, Wally interrupted, "You guys talking about Bruce?"

Two frustrated heads snapped his way, one with eyes gleaming with an idea Wally was sure he didn't want to hear.

"Wait…" he continued in thought. "You haven't talked to him yet?"

The agitated looks quickly morphed into abashed and ashamed, the guilty scuffing of hastily shined shoes replacing conversation.

"Look, we all know he isn't easy to talk to on a good day," John griped, "but someone is going to go over there, and it isn't going to be me."

"I still have the scars from last time," he added half-heartedly, rubbing his recently assaulted arm.

"John," Shayera sighed deeply, obviously preparing for another argument.

"I'll go," Wally shrugged, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"I'll talk to him," he repeated when only stunned stares bore into him uncomfortably.

"Thanks, Wally," Shayera smiled lightly, obviously grateful, and the tense lines faded from John's face somewhat when he gave a thanking nod.

Slipping into the crowd, Wally released a little sigh of relief. Still, he could understand their reluctance. Normally, talking to Bruce was like pulling out teeth, which was overall really painful and awkward all around. The victim would offer a few sentences, Bruce would give them that stare, and they'd melt into a jiggly pile of goo that he stepped over in disgust on the way out.

On a day like today, a funeral, where the last person Bruce considered family had finally left him…well, Wally wasn't sure what to expect. Half of him was sure Bruce would transform into a dragon and start breathing fire, and Wally really wanted to keep his hair. Hopefully that was just his overactive imagination.

It was difficult trying to slip through the wave of bodies clad in expensive suits that put his almost outgrown pants and jacket to shame. Wealth glimmered everywhere in the form of jewelry or the cultured tone that made Wally wary of even opening his mouth. However, there were others, too, the common people that had just been there everyday. The man with graying hair who ran the grocery store down the street from Bruce's mansion was there, as well as all the maids and staff from every other mansion in a sixty-mile radius. It was quite a motley mix.

Finally, after squeezing past a few chattering people and almost knocking an opulently decorated woman into a plate of little sandwiches, Wally was able to breeze through and scout the front of the room.

The coffin was open, Alfred's lined face looking exactly as it had in life; prim, proper, and on point. Everyone else was milling around, eating, talking, glancing for a second before scurrying away or hurrying to the side to unleash an honest show of tears. Only one stiff figure stayed by the side of the polished wood straight as an arrow with arms glued to his sides, unapproachable. Thus, Bruce was easy to find.

Wally meandered over, giving Alfred's still figure a mourning look. He had only met the man on the few times he'd been admitted to Bruce's home, and it was mostly when they were going incognito after some villain who didn't know them beneath the mask. They'd spoken a few times, casual conversations that still betrayed the old man's blend of wit and unexpected sarcasm.

He had liked Alfred, and Wally was sorry to see him go.

His steps slowed as Bruce loomed closer, and Wally mentally calculated that that had to be a first.

"Hey Bruce," he waved as he came to a stop at the man's side. The name felt thick on his tongue, clumsy and bizarre compared to the simple ease of "Bats." While he was on the subject, the whole setting was pretty strange and backwards to him, but Wally didn't feel that it was that much of a sacrifice to be there for his friends.

And Wally considered Bruce a close friend, as weird as that might sound. Still, now wasn't the time to brood on that, since the king of brooding himself hadn't shown any signs of recognition.

"Bruce?" Wally tried again, and this time he thought he saw Bruce's eyes shift his way for a millisecond tops, but that may have just been a play of the light.

"Hello Wally," the reply eventually came, growled and harsh and completely unsettling to be coming from the mouth of Bruce Wayne. It was Batman's voice, guttural and primal, a restrained animal. Wally had heard Bruce Wayne speak, and the voice was light, cultured, projecting the image of an incapable, but rich, fool.

Bruce wasn't even putting up that front today, not deeming the audience worthy of such a show. What stood next to Wally was some science fiction Bruce and Batman hybrid; Bruce's face, but Batman's soul.

Wally wondered if, in a way, this was the closet to whoever lurked inside both men that he had ever been.

"You okay?"

And immediately after, Wally wanted to speed forward straight into a concrete wall, because Bruce was obviously not okay. He was as far from okay as humanly possible, all the way down on the other end of the spectrum. He might as well have asked the man if he was in the mood to go dancing.

"Fine," Bruce grunted, brusque and curt, a reflex, and maybe Wally imagined it, but he seemed to lose the smallest ounce of tension, a little less like the gargoyles that were mounted on the balconies overlooking Gotham.

Wally tried to think of something else to say because he hated silences and even with the talking around them, this was most definitely a silence. Wally loved noise, life and talk and color and all the things that were lacking here, and the feeling was getting under his skin. He wished that for once the jokes he had in his arsenal were enough to jolt everything back to normal, where Alfred was alive and everyone was in the Watchtower like the great big family that they all needed.

From Bruce's responses, along with the little nagging voice in the back of his head, Wally decided that conversation wasn't the way to go. Even so, that same voice knew that Bruce shouldn't be left alone. Grief is a bitter thing for anyone, and the world knew what grief had turned Bruce into last time.

So he didn't talk, even if he couldn't stop his fingers from tapping to a beat on his thigh. Instead, he just stood next to Bruce, hoping that his presence would offer some kind of comfort to the man who at times seemed to be made completely out of rocks and stone.

Time inched by, and it wasn't easy, but every time the little black hand passed the twelve, Wally gave himself an invisible pat on the back. He was sticking it out, and so what if his other hand had joined in on the beat? He was still there, being a good friend to someone who would never admit to needing one.

After a few glances around the room, it suddenly occurred to Wally to wonder where Supes, or Clark (which just felt weird to say, or think) was. While on the same note, where was Diana? When he gave the room a few more quick looks, he was sure they weren't in the crowd, but his eyes were also led to that clock that was continuing its ominous ticking. It had been over an hour since the gathering started, and he'd forgotten his excuse of being fashionable late once he had crossed the threshold.

It wasn't really his fault that his suit hadn't been as clean and pressed as he had remembered it, and Wally was sure it was better to be a little late than to show up in a wrinkly suit, especially with a crowd this tough.

It did explain their absence though. Wally knew they had to have been there at some point, but duty must've called them away.

"Wally."

He jerked out of his thoughts, spinning his head around to see Bruce fully facing him.

"You can go," Bruce stated, gesturing slightly with his head. Wally turned to look, noticing that only a few people were mulling around, an air surrounding them that showed they were unsure of when it was appropriate to depart. Scratching the back of his head in some bewilderment, Wally was sure that he hadn't been thinking for that long.

"You staying?" he asked Bruce, who had turned back to the casket, hands clasped solemnly behind his back. There was a quick nod, and Wally shuffled his feet unsurely. Sure, part of him was itching to run, but another was just telling him that it wouldn't be the right thing to do.

"I've got some time," Wally admitted easily, shifting his hands to his pockets and shaking some overgrown red hair out of his eyes. He gave Bruce a careful smile, because honestly, he wasn't sure if the expression was appropriate.

"All that's waiting for me are dirty dishes, and trust me, I want to put off facing them as long as possible."

Bruce's head shifted towards him, and on a different occasion, Wally would've bet that he could've at least scored a smirk with the offer and explanation. Instead, Bruce offered a simple, "Alright," leaving Wally to wonder if the gesture was appreciated or viewed as a hindrance. Wally decided to go with the first because it made him happy.

They stood together until the last guest snuck through the doors, letting the ornate wood swing shut with an embarrassing bang behind her. It went on for another few seconds before Bruce became close to human again. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it stubbornly, then opened it again after a few seconds of contemplation.

"Thank you," he offered, the voice still gruff but a little less hostile.

"No problem," Wally responded to lessen the moment, spinning on his heel and taking a few steps to loosen up. For some reason, it was on the tip of his tongue to ask Bruce…something. He didn't know, maybe to ask if he wanted to grab a cup of coffee, just…well, something. But one look at Bruce could tell anyone that he needed privacy for his last goodbye.

"I'll see you later then," Wally gave a tentative wave, taking Bruce's continuing silence as his cue to depart. Halfway through the room, he halted and turned around, still feeling the apprehension.

"Bruce?" he asked, feeling a little like a child in the way his voice reverberated through the high ceilings. Only a setting of the shoulders gave him any indication that the man was listening since he didn't turn around, but Wally was grateful for even that little action.

"Just…uh…"

He rubbed his arm a little awkwardly, the way John had what was only a short time earlier.

"There are still people who, um, care about you," he rushed a little, his feet preparing to rush to the outside so he could breathe.

"Just because he's…well, we care about you, me and the League, I mean. You're our friend."

Bruce said nothing, and after a while of getting more wound up with every ticking of the clock, Wally let himself give in to his senses and found himself in his apartment before he knew it.

He fell backwards upon his unmade bed spread-eagled, hoping that his words had meant something, anything at all.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: _First, thanks to everyone who reviewed. Please continue to review, as I really appreciate it, and it does inspire me. :)

Also, sorry for killing off Alfred, haha. Unfortunately, it was the only way for this plot to work, and I really was interested in trying it. Also, I'm still working on trying to get everyone's characterizations right, so if anyone has any advice or critique, please let me know.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter, a Christmas present from me to you. :)

* * *

Batman's room at the Watchtower was sparse by anyone's standards. A bed loomed in the corner, half covered in shadow, while an unadorned desk and barely filled bookcase stood across the floor. That didn't hinder Batman in his work, in fact making things simpler as he never stayed long in the space, just enough to catch an hour of sleep for the next mission, or just to look over a bit of evidence that would lead him to a guilty criminal.

It wasn't a place for comfort, but a place for duty. It had the personality of a hotel room; there for a necessity, nothing more.

This afternoon was different, as Batman sat on the compact bed with his chin resting on his hands, a statue made of something harder than granite.

He had entered the Watchtower because, for the first time that he had ever really known, Gotham had felt unwelcoming. It's darkness and filth, which normally would either embrace him or encourage him in his efforts, felt thick and suffocating. As he had attempted to swoop through the streets, Batman found that he could barely stand to breathe, and so he had gone to where he could still accomplish what needed to be done.

Unfortunately, the sickening sensation had stayed with him, pulsating through his chest and sending pains, like terrible migraines, to his brain. It explained why his cowl sat at his side instead of on his head, still able to be grabbed at a moments notice, just in case.

It had only been two days since Alfred's funeral, and Bruce was finding that he hadn't handled it as well as he thought he had.

The raw pain, roaring and clawing inside of him like a beast, was a tribute to that.

Alfred…had been…so many things.

Friend.

Confidant.

Partner.

Teacher.

Parent.

The loss of him, even the idea of it without being a reality, felt like the ground had been stolen beneath his feet.

After his parents had been killed, stability had been ripped, no stolen, out of Bruce's life, and maybe that was a redundant point by now, but the fact simply was that it was true. The two people that he had loved more than anything, the two people that were supposed to stand by him through his life, watch him grow and lead him to become a man they could be proud of; he had lost them.

Alfred…Alfred had still been there. Alfred, who taught him to shoulder the guilt and not let it consume him more than it already had. Alfred, who had stood by his side when he donned the cape and glided into the night on Hell's wings. Alfred, who had dragged him into bed after he had collapsed in the cave, ensuring that Batman awoke with bandaged wounds and a glass of water with aspirin on the end table.

Bruce had lost the last thread of security he had known, the last person who had known the person in-between Bruce Wayne and the Batman, who had known if there was a person inside either man at all.

And the grief…God, he had thought he had become accustomed to grief.

Mourning his parents was excruciating when he woke every morning and realized they weren't there. The pain of it throbbed inside of him constantly, a bitter reminder to what he had lost and what he must do. It had never faded, never grown easy to handle or even control, but Batman had gotten used to the presence of it, the immortality of the loss.

Alfred's death was a fresh wound, bleeding and dripping blood over everything, dying a blackened soul a furious, dangerous red. It was an impossible addition of weight to bear on his shoulders when he had already been Atlas shouldering the world. He found himself so tempted to throw it away and curse the gods that had given him such a fate.

As he pulled himself out of his thoughts, Bruce found that he was breathing heavily, chest heaving up and down, unable to capture enough air. He reined in the action the best he could, slowing his breathing and trying to find a composure or calmness to grasp and hold on to. When he did, the silence of the room should have fallen around him, but instead he heard the unsure scuffling of feet that told him someone was fearfully standing outside his door.

Letting his heavy eyes fall shut, Bruce sighed and pushed away the sweaty hair that had fallen into his face.

Perhaps it would be better to return to Gotham, for all its sudden discomfort and unexpected suffocation, than to stay here around people who would try to offer him solace that was impossible to find. Though the words the Flash had offered a few days past had not been forgotten, and the effort in saying them not noted, they were not so easily believed.

The Justice League was not implemented to be friends. They were comrades, teammates in battle and nothing more, not people to call up as if they were old buddies. A fondness for a fellow soldier was vastly different from an honest friend, and that was an aphorism that should be remembered at all times.

Though his opinions were not those of everyone else, who had giant hearts and souls that they felt the need to impose on those around them. He didn't want to hear Clark's platitudes that were inherited from his father, or his pitiful attempts at a heart to heart. Batman had no desire to listen to Diana's ancient words of wisdom in the form of some mystical mythology.

Batman would deal with his grief, the way he always had and always will.

Batman would deal with his grief alone.

Feeling a conviction in that conclusion, Batman stood and replaced the cowl on his head, finding the material only slightly less constricting than before. However, that inch of give made all the difference at the moment.

When he straightened again after the quick movement, he could still sense the presence behind his door. Though he approached it and allowed it to speed open, however, he found the corridor completely void of life besides a rushed gust of air that hit his face.

Batman stepped into the hallway, finding some peace in the sound he allowed his boots to make on this occasion, trading stealth for routine for a brief period of time. He headed towards the monitors, preparing to find some villain or desperate tragedy to work out his anger, but the sight of the others gathered around the flashing screens lowered his expectations of such an event occurring anytime soon.

"What's going on?" he demanded without preamble, watching five bodies jump at least an inch in the air while the sixth just turned to face him smoothly.

"Oh, hi, Batman," Superman greeted after his recovery, arms crossed over his broad chest in a nervous gesture that narrowed Batman's eyes by reflex. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he replied, clipped and accurate. "Answer my question."

"There's a situation in Metropolis," J'onn stepped forward when the others seemed to hesitate. "Some form of alien seems to have landed and is causing a great deal of destruction."

"Why wasn't I notified?" Batman inquired once the last syllable had passed from the other's mouth.

Superman had the decency to look slightly abashed, but a spark of good-natured determination glittered in his eyes that caused Batman to tense.

"We thought you might be more comfortable sitting this one out," he explained, slowly, as if he was talking to a child and trying to convince them that the entire situation had stemmed from their own idea. "You've had a…difficult week-"

"I said I was fine," Batman reiterated after interrupting, turning back to J'onn. "When are we leaving?"

"Batman," Superman boomed a little louder than before, "The League thinks that it would be -"

"When," Batman all but growled, "are we leaving?"

"Look!" Green Lantern burst forth with an aura of agitation. "We're just trying to think of what's best for you, and for the situation we're facing."

"It won't help if you're distracted," Hawkgirl added in a somewhat calmer tone, but still sharply delivered.

Batman did not reply, simply set his jaw and glared into each of their eyes with warning. It was a silent threat, one most knew not to test, but it seemed the League was not made of heroes but, instead, stubborn fools.

"Bruce," Superman even dared to sigh, but when he received no other response he simply threw his hands into the air with frustration.

"Fine!" he almost shouted with uncharacteristic bluntness, barely controlling the volume of his voice before turning to face the rest of the group. "We leave in two minutes. Be ready."

He headed to the side with J'onn, most likely to prepare the quick flight to Earth to handle whatever menace had decided to appear this time. Hawkgirl and Green Lantern stepped off to the side, standing by the window in a cloud of hushed whispers and intent looks that Batman gladly closed his ears and eyes to.

"Hey, Bats?"

Batman knew there was a red blur at his side and kept his eyes shut, deciding that a response was not required and not honestly caring much if one was expected.

"You know we weren't trying to keep you out of the loop, right?" the Flash's unsure voice went on, doing nothing to squelch the irritation that bubbled underneath Batman's skin.

"Bats?" he pestered, and Batman felt Flash zip to his other side by the time his ears understood the words.

"Come on, Bats!"

This time a finger jabbed into his side, and Batman's eyes flew open in time to reflexively grab for the wrist that was retracting. His fingers curled around empty air, and the Flash simply beamed at him and waved in triumph.

"What?" Batman finally grumbled.

"Hey," Flash shrugged his shoulders easily, still not losing his pleased smile. "You got peeved when your question wasn't answered, too."

Batman simply grunted and discomfort finally flashed over the other's face.

"You do remember what I said, don't you?" he questioned a little tentatively. "We really were just trying to, you know, help a little. Heck, I know I'd want a day off."

Before he thought about it, Batman couldn't help but snarl, "We're not the same."

There was a brief moment of silence before Flash laughed a little and placed a friendly hand on Batman's shoulder.

"You're right. You're way too scary."

Batman just looked at Flash until the other drew back his hand hurriedly, scratching the back of his head with an awkward laugh.

Just as silence began to fall, Superman's voice rang out.

"Alright everyone! Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Guess who got Justice League Unlimited for Christmas... :)

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! It really means a lot! Please continue to review, and I hope you like this chapter. ;)

* * *

The ride to Earth was a tense one, the air electrified by the scowl that still marred Batman's face. Normally the ride went quickly with casual talks or even a discussion of tactics and technique. However, today the ride was only halfway over, but it felt as if they had been on the ship for at least a week. Flash saw the discomfort in Superman's uncharacteristically set shoulders and in Diana's sad but thoughtful eyes. He squirmed in his seat with uncertainty, wondering if any joke in his arsenal could break the silence while not getting him unceremoniously tossed into deep space. He'd been there before, and it wasn't an experience he wanted to revisit.

Unfortunately, he came up empty, but decided something needed to be said anyway. He opened his mouth, words already forming on his tongue, but a hand on his shoulder easily stole his attention.

"Yeah?" Wally asked, looking into John's stern eyes. His mouth was set in a frown, which couldn't be a good sign.

"I know you're trying to help," he replied, not unkindly, "but you shouldn't press. Batman probably needs time to himself right now."

"I understand that," Flash responded, feeling a little more like he was being chastised rather than being given advice. "It just doesn't seem right to go on as if nothing happened though."

"We're not," John affirmed, removing his hand and settling it back in his lap. "But I don't think he wants our pity."

"It's not pity!" Flash denied, and John's frown lessened a little.

"You know that," he agreed, "and I know that. Batman might not."

Wally was trying to think of a reply when Diana's voice filtered through the air unexpectedly. Instead of answering back, he peered over his chair.

"Batman," she was saying, shifting into her seat until she was facing the one in question. There was no reply, nor a change of expression on his face, and it was eerie how the only complete human among them could seem the most inhuman at times. The thought sent an unaccustomed shiver down Wally's spine as he recalled the stone figure keeping vigil over a motionless body.

"We only wanted to help because we we're worried about you," Diana tried to explain again, cautious blue eyes searching for Batman's underneath the concealing cowl. "Whenever someone loses a loved one close to them, it's natural to need time to heal."

"Listen to her, Bruce," Superman added, turning around so he could see the two. "Whether you like it or not, you're our friend. We're going to do what we think is best for you."

Batman finally tilted his head toward them, eyes narrowed into frightening slits that made Flash want to duck down further beneath the back of his chair.

"You have no right to decide that."

"Yes, we do," Superman spoke firmly, his jaw clenched determinedly. It was obvious he wasn't going to back down from the discussion this time, and everyone knew Batman never surrendered a verbal or physical confrontation alike.

Looking down, Wally made sure his seatbelt was buckled in before giving his attention back to what was sure to end up in a legendary death match.

"If any one of us were in the same situation," Superman gestured around, "you'd do everything you could to keep us from duty. You know that."

"We react differently," Batman explained shortly, leading to Superman shaking his head with a frustrated look in his eyes.

"We don't," he announced, pointing a finger Batman's way. "People grieve, Bruce. The only difference is that we don't feel the need to hide it."

For a few seconds, silence reigned again, but it was dethroned by Batman's guttural, and unexpectedly heated, reply.

"Stop presuming you have any idea-"

J'onn's voice interrupted in an unbiased monotone, and every head turned towards him with either awe or interest.

"We're here," was all he said, his words affirmed by the small jerk that always announced landing.

Glancing out the window, Wally noticed the ruins of buildings and a shadowed hulking figure in the distance. Batman and Superman shut their mouths quickly while everyone hustled out of their seats. Wally clicked off his seat belt and trailed behind Diana to the outside. Within a few seconds, the seven of them stood on the already cracked pavement.

"How are we doing this?" John asked impatiently, waiting for a plan what would spur them into action.

"We haven't been able to pinpoint its weaknesses," J'onn replied stoically. "It may have very powerful defenses."

"We're not going to find out anything by standing here," Shayera announced eagerly, already hovering a few inches in the air. "Let's go smash the thing."

With a brutal cry, she and John zoomed off until they were little black dots, and J'onn joined them after a moment's speculation.

With an expression mixed of worry and hurt, Diana reached out to lay a hand on Batman's arm in a gesture of comfort. Her hand hovered in midair until she thought better of it and let the arm hang limply at her side.

"Good luck," she offered instead with a reverent nod, the heat of battle alighting in her eyes as she flew off, long hair trailing after her. Superman watched her go before taking to the air himself and giving Batman a considering stare. Though his words were forceful and sure, his eyes were sad when he spoke again.

"This isn't over," he stated. Batman stared back at him impassively.

"Yes, it is."

The metallic shot of a grappling hook breached the air. Batman swung away, his cape billowing behind him like an ominous black curse, either on himself or whatever was awaiting him. Superman zoomed off as well, a red blur slamming into the creature that lay in the distance. A pained cry answered the hit, shattering the air like it were made of fragile glass.

Flash ran towards the battle himself, dodging a few massive holes here and there before coming to a smooth stop next to Shayera, who had taken a brief moment to breathe on the side.

Whatever they were fighting was incredibly large, at least over a hundred feet tall. It was a little annoying how everything that dropped from space liked to be super-sized. Like most creatures that popped up unexpectedly, it had the basic form of a man, but with what looked like two extra pairs of arms protruding from its sides. As Wally watched, the monster reared back its deformed head with a roar, shattering walls and sending people screaming and scurrying into whatever buildings remained standing.

Flash prepared to enter the fray, giving Shayera a quick smile before aiming a few thousand punches towards the creature's right leg. The second's worth of powerful hits barely fazed it, and whatever it was simply lifted its thick leg to kick him away. Wally dodged to the right and raced up its sides in a skilled spiral, dodging the arms that swung at him viciously on his way up.

"Hey! How's it going?" he called out with a wave when he stood perched on what he thought was the alien's nose. It glared at him until its five yellow eyes were cross-eyed, and Flash almost let out his mental 'ew.'

It raised a bulky arm to swat him off like a fly, but Flash zipped to the left smoothly. It let out a howl as it smacked itself in the face, poking two of its eyes as well with stray fingers. With a stifled laugh, Wally had to resist letting out the obvious joke. After the hand stopped being a threat, Flash raced back to the same spot, waving both arms this time.

"Looks like you missed!" he announced, and the creature must have understood because its eyes narrowed with irritation and loathing. It waved an arm his way again, this time going horizontal to avoid a repeat of last time. Flash simply ran to its shoulder, keeping his footing as the creature knocked itself off balance and it stumbled a few steps.

Back on its nose, Flash cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, "Come on! Third time's the charm!"

Instead of smacking him away, the alien simply breathed in deeply and blew air out of its nose. Flash let out a shout and flew through the air spectacularly, hitting a piece of demolished rock and crashing to the ground. A cloud of dust rose at the impact, but he shook off the fall quickly and wobbled to his feet. A pile of green something was oozing around his feet after dripping off his uniform, and when he lifted his foot, he noticed it was sticking to his boot.

"I don't even want to know what that is," he grumbled, stepping out of his own personal crater and wiping the sole of his boot on the ground hurriedly.

Flash took a second to shake his head, but in that second a figure loomed over him like a shadow.

"That was sloppily," Batman accused, and Flash noticed that his suit was torn at one shoulder to contend with his labored breathing. "You're going to get yourself killed."

"I tried punching the thing and it didn't budge," Flash defended himself, mentally chanting 'don'tlookatthegoodon'tlookatthegoo.' "At least that did something."

"Obviously," Batman growled, turning back to face the problem at hand, but if Wally could see through that mask, he would've bet his own mask that Batman was rolling his eyes.

"And it looks like you're the one who should be more careful," Wally shot back, pointing to Batman's shoulder. He earned himself a glare, but before Batman could reply, a shape came racing down on them.

Flash raced to the left while Batman dodged with a roll to the right. A giant fist slammed down on where they had been standing a few milliseconds before.

At the impact, Superman flew above them with a worried look.

"You two okay?" he asked, taking a glance at Flash's thumbs up before throwing both his fists into the alien's chest, knocking it down onto the ground.

Batman gave him a quick look and ordered, "Be careful," before running off with a batarang poised in hand.

Flash didn't have the time to think of a response as he noticed the monster sitting up and kicking Diana into a building behind him. He ran forward to where Shayera was aiming a slam with her mace. He matched his punch in time with hers for double the impact, and it worked as the creature staggered back a few dozen feet.

"Nice shot," Shayera complimented while Flash released a pleased grin.

"Right back atcha."

They shared a friendly smile before rushing forward together. For a while it was just the frenzy of a fight, a punch here and a kick there the only identifiable changes as time flew by. Flash caused a few bruises, was on the receiving end of a few, but after a while even he needed a quick breather.

"What is this thing?" he exclaimed with annoyance to John, who hovered over him a little wearily.

"I have no idea," John spilled out with a quick breath, looking down at his ring as if afraid it would be drained. "I don't want to know, either. I just want to know how to beat it."

"Tell me about it," Wally gasped, rubbing his arm where a giant fist had pounded it.

"Well, after you," he gestured with his arm, preparing to race forward after John, but he tripped when he was distracted by a terrified cry that shook the air. Wally glanced around hurriedly for the source, but only in time to see a familiar black figure take a deadly dive into the pavement.

"Batman!"


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N:_ Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed! I really appreciate it, and it made me excited to start writing. Please continue to review. :)

This part is actually the lead-in to the real plot of the story, and what I wanted to explore in the first place.

Also, as for where this series is on the Justice League timeline. I think I'll say…maybe the beginning of Unlimited? But I wouldn't expect any of the other heroes to make appearances besides the original seven...

Second side note: I've never had the injuries I'm bestowing on poor Batman here. I simply researched and asked people who have, so hopefully, I won't be too off. :)

Thanks for reading, and I hope you like this chapter. Let me know what you think!

* * *

Sound came back first, shrill beeps and hushed whispers the only things that could penetrate the fog that floated through his senses. He forced himself past it, struggling up the mountain to consciousness until pain came next, pain that would've been intense if not for the obvious cloud of medication still clogging his senses, making him feel dizzy and mindless. Eventually, he reached the summit, eyes forcing themselves open and defying the powers that be that said the feat should have been impossible.

It took a few seconds for things to bounce back into focus. Within a moment, Batman calculated that he was back at the Watchtower, specifically in the infirmary, a place that he disliked visiting and loathed waking up in. He was covered with a thin generic white blanket and lying on one of the beds in the corner of the room. Twitching his fingers sent jolts of pain up his arm, but he was able to do it, and that was enough to satisfy him for now. When he attempted to move his legs, however, the results were not what he was expecting.

Making the attempt to shift them sent unexpected shocks of excruciating torture through his body, enough to make him cease his efforts to keep himself quiet. He closed his eyes with a deep breath, urging his arms to lift himself into a sitting position, silently cursing their incompetence when they shook under his command. At the same time, he made the uncomfortable and irritating note that his cowl, had been removed.

"Hey, guys! Looks like he's waking up!"

The voice must have come straight out of hell because it sent a pang through his head, signaling an oncoming headache that he could have done without. His eyes opened into cautious slits, and the painful collage of reds, greens, and blues that almost blinded Batman reminded him of why his costume was so much more useful.

"Bruce?"

That was Superman, looking like he wanted to reach out to him, because that was what he did. He stood at the foot of Batman's bed, forever the leader among them. Lines of worry were etched deeply into his face, and since the last expression Batman had seen on him was bottomless frustration, he immediately set himself on edge.

They must have asked him a question during his ponderings because there were six sets of eyes watching him expectantly.

"How do you feel?" Diana asked, probably repeated by the slow tone of her voice. Her blue eyes were both frightened and resigned at the same time, which was another sign that something didn't bode well.

"I've been better," Batman admitted gruffly, brain suddenly catching up with everything that had happened. A fight, like so many others. Superman racing around and throwing punches. Flash somewhat goofing off as usual. A lecture, then racing into action, following an unwanted reunion with the pavement.

"What happened?" he demanded after his memory faded off and lead to nothing.

"The creature was defeated," came J'onn's normally emotionless tones, tainted only with an unusual amount of care, "but you've sustained numerous injuries."

"That's nothing new," Batman stated, and when he tried to move again, finally out of whatever haze medication had seeped him in, whatever words he had planned died on his tongue. He jerked the blanket off his body where it had slipped down through his struggles.

Both his legs were buried in mountains of what Batman identified as plaster; thick, white, and completely useless.

Batman was used to injuries, both large and small. He had left battles with nothing more than a bruise on his jaw, others with his back completely shattered. However, for all his extensive history with criminals and psychopaths alike, he couldn't call back a time where both of his legs had been broken at the same time.

A bundle of fragments accompanied by a buzzing of noise argued for supremacy among his thoughts. He pictured Gotham, completely unprotected against those who would defile and destroy her while the only one who could stop them was forced to hide like an invalid. All that awaited him was an empty manor, his only companions the outdated paintings and portraits that hung on the walls like ghosts. Not even Alfred would be there to lecture him, give him a mildly cheerful anecdote or just…do the things Alfred had always done when Bruce had bitten off more than he could chew.

Even with his head bowed in thought, Batman could picture the faces surrounding him with unwanted emotion. Pity, pity for him and his powerless body, because that was just it. No matter how sharp his mind was, no matter how many hours he spent molding his muscles and mind to as close to perfection as any human would ever get, that's all he would ever be. Human among aliens who could fly; human against people with super-powered rings and legs that could travel the globe in half a second.

Batman hated the way that vulnerability made him feel.

"Hey, are you-" a rough hand on his shoulder that pulled back at one harsh glare. Green Lantern stepped back a few feet tentatively, holding up his hands in a mock surrender.

"Bruce," Superman asked for his attention again, cape hanging limply from his shoulders. "It could be two months until you've healed completely. You can stay at the Watchtower until-"

"No," Batman rejected the idea stonily. Eight weeks locked up in a room he barely considered anything more than for storage. Eight weeks of handing out assignments to others who might not get the job done, only showing up to get a glance at the broken bat. No, he'd stay in Gotham, his city, using his information and resources the best he could to keep an unprotected populace from falling apart.

"It's the safest route," Superman was arguing quietly, gesturing weakly with his hands. Batman understood the source of his discomfort. Clark didn't like to be reminded that those around him were breakable in a way he was not.

"There's no reason why you can't still work with the League," he continued, probably thinking of days filled with watching flashing monitors, briefings that lived up to their name before leaving him with nothing to do but watch the world struggle to turn. "There's plenty-"

"I'm going back to Gotham," Batman informed him, struggling to keep himself upright with the limited energy he had regained. "How long was I out?"

The sudden change of his question caught Superman off guard, and his mouth fell open since the reply he had concocted had been undermined.

"Almost a day," Hawkgirl answered curtly instead, and Batman nodded towards her in appreciation.

"You need to stay here!" Superman went on with an argument Batman knew was fruitless anyway. "You'll need help. There's no one to help you back in Gotham."

Though the words were blandly honest and true, Batman could see that Superman regretted uttering them; regretted reopening a still healing wound to add to those that he had recently been so generously given.

"I'm aware of that," and though he had meant for it to come out impassively, the sentence came growled out more like a snarl.

Superman sighed, running his hands through his hair, which had seen better days. Faint circles under his eyes revealed that even he could get run down after a little dose of stress.

"I know you don't like this," Superman started, leaving whatever this specifically was up for interpretation. "But there isn't another option right now."

"Yes there is," Batman felt as if he was repeating himself. "Me going to Gotham."

Batman raised an eyebrow at Superman, looking threatening despite his state.

"Or are you going to try and stop me?"

Superman looked surprised for a moment before crossing his arms over his chest in a familiar stubborn pose.

"You know I could," he stated, revealing the hidden fact that Superman could be just as threatening when provoked.

"Whoa, guys!" Flash, who had surprisingly stayed quiet through the entire exchange, suddenly sprang between Superman and the foot of Batman's bed, ruffling the sheets a little in his haste.

"Isn't there someone you could call?" Flash suggested, glancing between Batman and Superman as if expecting an outright brawl, which Batman couldn't completely rule out. Even though Batman rarely entered a fight he knew he couldn't win, he still had his arms, and he knew he could at least get in a few good hits if it came to that. "You know, to stay with you?"

There was a few seconds of tense silence while Superman stepped back a little to give Flash more room, as well as to disabuse him of the notion that he was going to set Batman ablaze with his heat vision any time soon.

"No," Batman discredited the idea, watching Flash's shoulders slump a little in what could have been disappointment.

"What about one of us?" Diana stepped forward. "It's rare that we're all are on duty together. There are plenty of others who would be willing to fill in for two of us during out absence."

"That's not a bad idea," Green Lantern commented somewhere in the background.

"The League shouldn't function without two core members," Batman interjected, but it seemed he was going to be ignored as Superman appeared to take interest in the proposition.

"But which of us would be able to do that?" Superman asked, taking the time to think the situation through somewhat logically. "In case there is an emergency, they'd need to be able to get here quickly."

Another bout of nothing but thought as each of them contemplated the question.

Batman knew J'onn was needed at the Watchtower for coordination purposes if nothing else, and Superman disappearing for any length of time would leave Metropolis with a glaring red sign screaming, "Feel free to invade at any time." There was a chance of him ignoring that and taking the world on his shoulders, a habit of his, but it was low. Green Lantern and Hawkgirl were low prospects. Batman was on what he saw as friendly terms with both, but there lacked a closeness to voluntarily give themselves up to such a mission. Diana would most likely offer, if the contemplative glances she was directing his way was any indication. The thought made Batman frown at the vision of eight weeks of awkwardness and dodging questions whose answers Diana didn't want to hear.

"I could do it."

Since they seemed to be doing things in unison lately, six heads turned to stare at Flash, who grinned a little unsurely at the attention.

"Wally?" Green Lantern asked, a little dumbstruck it seemed, obviously awaiting elaboration with the rest of them.

"Well, Supes said it would have to be someone who could get places fast," Flash explained easily and with a tinge of pride, "and who's faster then me?"

"Don't you have a job?" Batman questioned stoically, but Flash continued to beam.

"I have some vacation time saved up. I had to use a lot of it on League business, but since I don't take sick days any other time, I could use some of it now," he countered Batman's argument. "Plus, my shifts aren't long. Even after my days are used up, I could be there if there was any emergency."

"Situations in Central City?" Batman inquired, but Flash appeared to have all the answers. Batman found himself wondering what Flash had been doing while he and Superman had been talking.

"Like I said Bats," Flash jerked a finger at his chest. "I'm the fastest man alive. I could go, lock up Captain Cold, and be back at your place in five minutes tops."

A quick scoping of the room showed the consensus. Superman seemed content with the decision even though he hadn't voiced the opinion, or completely smoothed out the lines of worry on his forehead. The others held expressions that said they were fine with the idea and just wanted the matter settled so the day could continue.

"This is too convenient," Batman announced, but Superman just sent a decisive smile that sank his stomach.

"Oh come on, Bats," Flash grinned. "It'll be just like a sleepover."

"I don't have sleepovers," Batman spoke deadpanned, but it didn't seem able to put a damper on the speedster's mood.

"You sure you want to do this, Wally?" Green Lantern questioned, sounding a little uneasily. "It's a lot of responsibility."

"I can handle it," and under his simple tone there was a wave of defensiveness that would be undetectable to most.

"Okay. That's settled," Superman announced to Batman's surprise.

"I never agreed-"

"I'll transport you down," J'onn stated, giving Batman one of his rare, understanding smiles. Batman felt his mouth close and let out a frustrated sigh, included a well-trained glare to everyone in the room.

Wayne Manor was large, and if he was lucky (which was unlikely) Flash would choose a room very far away from his own. Considering the kid's attention span, he'd probably stay for a week tops before getting bored and leaving Batman contently to his own devices. Even though a voice in the back of his mind was assuring him otherwise, Batman told himself it was a possible course of action.

Last time Flash had been to his home, Batman had lost the entire west wing of the manor. He had a feeling there was going to be much more damage this time around.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N:_ Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I appreciate it so much. Also, thanks to my friend D for giving this a look over twice and for giving me feedback.

I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Hopefully, we'll start getting somewhere soon, haha. ;)

Please review!

* * *

J'onn transported them straight into the BatCave, so after only a few seconds in limbo, Wally felt cool, chilled air against his exposed skin. He jerked his head to the side immediately, knowing Batman had been on his right, to be sure that the other had made it through the journey safely. Batman was standing steadily on his crutches, since he'd completely refused any semblance of a wheelchair, and his guarded face gave off nothing but extreme concentration.

Since he had a moment, Wally took it to glance around the cave. No matter how many times he saw it, it never got any less cool. All the trophies, the flashing computer monitors, the humongous penny and, come on, a dinosaur!

Wally didn't bother to hold in the low whistle of air as he looked around the room some more, wanting to speed around and touch every single thing. His mischievous side was urging him on, since he had a complete one-hundred percent chance to get away with it, but he had a feeling Batman knew what was on his mind. The way one crutch shifted in his direction, ready to block his path and send him flying, stilled his eagerness.

Batman began shuffling towards his impressive collection of computers, and Wally's thoughts went into overdrive.

"Hey, wait," he zipped in front of Batman. "You need to rest. Sleep or something."

"I wasted the last day sleeping," Batman growled, directing his crutches around Wally and hobbling closer towards his destination.

"No, you were passed out," Wally countered, blocking the other's path again, and pretending that the scowl didn't make him want to shriek and run away. "There's a difference."

"Barely," Batman grunted, no longer trying to side-step Wally and instead glaring straight into his eyes.

"Look…Bruce," Wally kept hold of his resolve, ignoring the flash in the other's eyes. "I'm here to take care of you, and that's what I'm going to do. If you push yourself, you're just going to be hurt longer, and I really doubt that's what you want."

Batman stared up at Wally for a few tense moments, and if Wally concentrated on his expression more, maybe he would've been able to peer past the agitation and annoyance and see a tiny smidge of respect underneath it all. When Batman spoke, however, it was not a noticeable vein in his tone.

"I need to see those monitors," Batman stated, not a request, but as an undeniable fact. "They send me information from all over Gotham. I have the means to gather leads no one else will catch. If I can't protect this city myself, I'm going to help those who can."

Wally might've been about to open his mouth again, but Batman took a step closer to glower menacingly.

"If I don't do this, who knows how many people are going to die?" He questioned, his words dark and foreboding, laced with a layer of cold blame. "Because you wouldn't let me sit in front of a computer."

Wally didn't let the frown slip off his face immediately, pondering over the words while still standing firm with his feet planted in the floor and his arms crossed over his chest.

"Okay," he finally relented, stepping aside unhappily and watching the skulking figure settle itself into the high-backed chair that commanded the presence of the room. "But not for long. You need to-"

"I know. Rest," Batman interjected, his fingers appearing and disappearing among shining silver keys and irresistibly unlabeled buttons.

"Right," Flash reiterated, taking a few uncertain steps forward.

"Um…" he hummed, his eyes alighting as he captured an idea. "Hey, where am I staying? This is a 'manor,' right? It probably has a lot of rooms."

"Pick one," Batman ordered without interest, hands still flying over the keyboard while his gaze stayed cemented to the monitors. When Flash peeked over his shoulder, he saw what looked like a few standard criminals with guns pointed toward an armed police officer.

"Do you think-" Wally commented, pointing a finger towards the screen, but withdrawing it slowly when Batman turned his head only to stare him down into silence.

"Alright, well, I should go get my stuff," Wally thought quickly, heading towards the stairs that would lead upwards into the real Wayne Manor. "Since I'll be staying here a while and everything."

Batman said nothing in reply, and the chattering of bats was the only eerie reply that Wally got.

"I'll only be gone for a minute," he offered offhandedly, awkwardly moving upwards a few more steps. "Just call if you need me."

After there was still no sound, Wally ducked his head back in for a moment for a, "I'll be there in a-"

"Wally," was released in a barely contained growl, and Wally sped through the halls, out the door, and was in his apartment in Central City before he blew out the breath that had gotten caught in his throat. He took a minute to plop down on his unmade bed, pulling off his mask and reveling in the air against his face, no longer the frigid atmosphere that the cave admitted. Wally ran a hand through his red hair, dropping his face in his hands and wondering how he was going to survive eight weeks of the Bat, and why he even volunteered in the first place. He could've used the vacation time for something fun like….a week in the Bahamas, or a visit to the next big Hawaiian beach party.

"Well, it's only two months," he told himself optimistically, not spending the time to reason out why two months sounded so much shorter than eight weeks. "It won't be so bad."

He leapt to his feet and grabbed a bunch of shirts from his closet, balling them and sticking them under his arm while digging around with the other hand for his suitcase.

"GL said he'll probably spend half the time asleep anyway."

He dropped the open suitcase on his bed, smiling at the travel stickers that reminded him of good old times. Dropping the rumpled shirts inside, he raced around the room, collecting whatever he'd definitely need, along with this and that.

"I bet I could get him to open up after a few days," he muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes at the suitcase that seemed stubbornly set to simply bulge out with clothes the sides instead of closing and latching shut. "No one's immune to a little Wally West charm."

Taking a break from slamming his weight onto the top of the suitcase, he pictured Batman's stony face in his mind.

"Er…staying in a mansion will be fun though," he reasoned, bouncing down heavily until he heard a satisfying click. He jumped back down onto the floor, taking a glance around his apartment. Yeah, it was small, with only just enough space to get by without tripping over his own feet. It wasn't extravagant, probably more on what he liked to think of the simple side, but it was still home.

Heaving the suitcase into his arms, he decided he should be getting back, and after readjusting his mask with a quick hand, he sped back across the country until skidding to a stop in front of Wayne Manor.

Instead of bursting inside right away, he took a few steps back to stare up at the building. Last time he was here, they had been under threat of a Thanagarian invasion, and even though he had gotten to scope out the BatCave enough to enthrall him, Wally hadn't had much time to look at Wayne Manor itself. He had accidently blown up the one part he did see, but well, that didn't really count. In fact, that could've happened to anyone, and it wasn't like anyone remembered that incident anyway. That was all in the past.

Wayne Manor was one of those buildings that looked like it belonged somewhere in the tombs of history, maybe in the time where their were still kings and nights. It was a collage of harsh, jutting balconies, pointed, challenging towers, and dark black stone that only grew darker as it seemed to suck in the sunlight. Oh, and it still had gargoyles, and even with all the things he had been there, that was definitely one of the weirdest things Wally had ever seen.

The mansion looked more like a museum than a home, formal and dark instead of the casual and easygoing place Wally had just left. Even as he stepped back inside and bumped the door closed behind him, there was nothing that could stop the discomfort that settled itself further than his costume, going directly under his skin.

Wally took in the grandiose entry hall, filled with not as recently polished floor as you would expect for one of the richest people in the world. Of course, there was a reason for that, and Wally felt immediately ashamed at the thought, turning his attention towards the rest of the room instead of dwelling on it.

Expensive objects were everywhere, from probably priceless vases perched on extravagantly carved tables, to paintings that he had only seen reprinted in books or on a quick visit to the internet. A thread of nervousness ran through Wally as he wondered how many things he would accidentally break during his stay, but looking around the room, he found plenty of large closets perfect for hiding mysteriously damaged valuables, so he was put at ease.

Eventually, he headed towards the sloping staircases that wound up at the other end of the room, speeding forward instead of just walking to get the full experience.

The second floor was similar to the first, rich carpeting and wood paneling on the walls, sculptures and whatever else decorating the hallways as Wally tread along.

"He did say just to pick one," Wally remembered, stopping suddenly and opening the knob to the door directly on his left.

The room inside was dull and drab, with walls painted a gray-blue and a carpet of a matching color. It was as opulent as any other, but it definitely didn't suit Wally's taste, and he left it behind with a distasteful wrinkle of the nose that would've allowed him to blend into any Wayne fundraiser perfectly.

Taking a few paces forward, Wally chose another random door, but what he found inside was not a bedroom like the other. Instead, it appeared to be a library, filled to the ceiling with shelves upon shelves of books, paperback and leather-bound. At first, he thought Bruce had some of that cool wallpaper that looked like bookcases, but a closer look revealed them to be the real thing.

Wally walked down the middle lane curiously, wondering if the entire room was filled to the brim. He couldn't have guessed there was that many books in the entire world, not like he had really given the subject enough thought. When he reached the back of the library, he took note of the great fireplace, almost as tall as he was and impossibly wide. Logs of wood were placed neatly to the side, ready for use, and Wally could just picture inviting the Central City orphanage kids over to make the best s'mores the world would ever know.

Above the fireplace, however, was another painting. It wasn't like the others lining the hallways. Instead, this was a portrait, a portrait of three people; two adults, and one child. The adults were obviously a couple, probably married, with a boy holding one of their hands each in his own. It was the first portrait Wally had taken note of that wasn't formal, all stiff poses and harsh clothing, and it abruptly dawned on him that the child was Bruce.

Of course, he knew the tragic tale of Bruce Wayne, who in the world didn't? That didn't make it any stranger to try to connect the grinning boy in that picture to the hunched figure basking in the shadows below the manor's foundation. Maybe Wally was right about the house being a museum, or maybe not. Maybe it was more of a mausoleum, a tribute to the head who had come and gone. Turning his head, Wally almost expected a life-sized portrait of Alfred to be hanging on the walls, joining the ghosts that explained the reason why the house made him shiver.

Wally left the library fairly quickly after that, hurrying through the halls and trying room upon room. Eventually, he settled on one he could call his own during what he thought of as his stay.

Like the other bedrooms Wally had investigated, it had those really perfect comfy beds, along with two end tables with lamps that helped light up the whole room. The difference wasn't the furniture, but the color. The walls were painted in a bright red, contrasting wonderfully to the other drab rooms with their practiced sophistication. The bedspread matched, the volume of the colors adding a charged atmosphere to everything. Wally dropped his suitcase on the bed with a relieved sigh, making a mental note to change out of his costume later before he glanced around the space agan. The room was also spacious, the walls decorated with not the landscapes of the hallway, but paintings more abstract and vivid.

The difference was so obvious that Wally wondered how the room had even come about. Had one of the builders lost a couple of screws while building this room, completely going off of the original plans? Wally doubted he'd get much of answer if he asked, but the room was just his style, already promising to be a haven in such a dreary house. Heck, Wally bet that if he could get Batman in there, he'd probably even crack a smile.

As the thought went through his head, Wally wondered how long he had left Bruce alone in the cave. What if someone broke in? He'd never hear them all the way up here? What if Bruce fell, or couldn't get out? He'd just gotten his crutches, and everyone said he should be using a wheelchair but Batman had refused to and maybe he had gotten hurt-

Images flooded his mind with the irrational panic, and Wally fled his discovery to zoom through the house, turning sharply on the corners of the hallways until the hidden entrance to the cave was in sight. In a second, the steps were passed, and he had to blink his widened eyes a few times to adjust to the darkened light.

Relief warmed his thoughts as he took in the hoped for figure in its chair, monitors still buzzing with activity and life. Wally sighed, alleviated of his fear, and walked over to where Batman was, a smile ready on his lips.

However, as he approached, he noticed a difference. Batman's posture wasn't that of a meticulous observer, edged with frustration as it had been before. Now it was stiff, fingers digging into the chair while his jaw was clenched so tightly it must've been painful.

"Bruce? You okay?" Wally sped over the last few steps, taking in Batman's stare boring into the screen before him. He turned his own attention to it, reading the report that covered the illuminated inches from frame to frame. He skimmed the words rapidly, taking in phrases like 'three police officers dead and 'five others wounded' while also absorbing the dreaded 'four assailants escaped.'

"Uh oh," he couldn't help muttering, flickering his eyes back to Batman's stony face. "What happened?

"Eight policemen attempted to take four gang members into custody," Batman appeared to read right off of the report, his tone constricted and gruff.

"I'm guessing that didn't go too well," Wally said sadly, leaning his palms on the ledge where the keyboard sat. "Eight to four, those aren't exactly even numbers."

"They wouldn't be, anywhere else," Batman growled, pressing a key that scrolled down the screen to more detailed paragraphs. "Gotham is different."

"Taking the donut cop stereotype to a whole new level, huh?" Wally inquired in an attempt to make the moment lighter, an effort fruitless in the heavy atmosphere.

As Batman continued to burn holes into the monitor, Wally took a guess to why Batman was gripping the armrests so tightly.

"This isn't your fault, Bruce. There's nothing you could have-"

"Don't," Batman ordered, hands uncurling themselves to rest menacingly above the keys.

"What could you do?" Wally offered, gesturing with one arm. "Whack them with your crutch?"

"Gotham needs Batman," Bruce stated harshly after staring down Wally for no less than a full terrifying minute. "Without him-"

"The cops'll have to learn to stop packing the pounds?" Wally interjected, not allowing his grin to be daunted by the rays of menace being emitted by Batman.

"Come on, Bats," Wally grinned, daring to lay a hand on the other's shoulder. "The city has police for a reason. Maybe the reason they don't do their jobs is because they think you'll always be there to bail them out."

"We're not just talking about a couple of thugs," Batman decided to roughly clarify. "The next time, it could be the Joker, or Two-Face-"

"Or that Firefly guy who'll get doused with a fire hose," Wally pointed out, leaning his elbows on the ledge comfortably.

"You can't just presume it'll be that easy," Batman reproached, but Wally just let out a loose shrug.

"Maybe you just expect things to be too hard," he suggested in turn, feeling more than seeing Batman rolling his eyes.

"That's naïve," Batman accused impassively.

"I prefer to call it…optimistic," Wally grinned brightly, taping his hands against the metal in a short rhythm.

Batman grunted, voice void of amusement as they conversation sputtered and died.

Wally let his eyes trace along the many screens framing the monumental one bathing the surrounding feet in light. His head ached at the sheer number of words rapidly being passed through, the opening and closing of various folders, pictures and mug shots popping up for a second before being minimized in favor of another pixel creation.

"Jeez, is there an off button for that thing?" he asked, awe mixed with friendly irritation. Batman worked on, doing whatever it was he was doing, because Wally honestly couldn't imagine what he was accomplishing with only a few files and some wires.

After a little more time, Wally was definitely getting annoyed. It was his job to make sure Bruce was recovering, and he knew that driving himself to exhaustion mentally to make up for what he couldn't do physically would only end up backfiring. Well, since talking hadn't worked…

"How about…this one!"

One scarlet clad finger jammed itself onto a random button, and to Wally's delight, the screen capitulated all its efforts and faded to black with a final burst of light.

"That was lucky," Wally observed, hands on his hips as he noticed how much darker the cave was without that light source.

"Wally."

At the sound of his name being forced through rows of gritted teeth, Wally turned uneasily.

"You just deleted two hours worth of data that could've been used to catch numerous criminals loose on the streets!" Batman raved, his voice growingly louder with each deadly syllable.

Wally met Batman's enraged expression, opening his mouth to reply when his stomach let out a growl in complaint.

"My mom always said not to cry over spilt milk," Wally passed on as he handed Bruce his crutches with some assertive force.

"Come on, I'm starving. Let's go get something to eat."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N:_ Hey everyone. I apologize for the horribly long pause between updates, but life's been keeping me too busy to sit down and continue this lovely thing. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, because it means so much to me. :) I appreciate it more than I can express.

Also, when I started writing this part, I realized that this story is probably going to end up a lot longer than I expected. I really want to build something here, so even though the pace might be slow at times, I hope you all enjoy the story enough to stick with me. The next part will be from Wally's point of view, so it'll be a little more fun. ;)

So thanks again to everyone who reviewed, and please continue to do so. And here we go.

* * *

Batman stared as the handles of his crutches were slipped between his still gloved fingers. He held them reflexively, keeping them from dropping to the floor as he fixed Wally with an irritated glare. Instead of finding him a few inches away like he had been a second ago, Wally was standing over by the stairs, waving an arm impatiently.

"Come on, Bruce!" he urged, tapping one foot. Batman glanced back at the computer. It looked back at him with a gloomy, empty black face. All the data was gone, lost, and the purposeful hours he had spent were reduced to time wasted, completely useless. Keeping in mind that Superman would most likely cause an unnecessary blowout if Wally happened to disappear for a few months, Bruce stood, struggling only minimally with his crutches. Having something to eat would give him more fuel to survive on later, which would be beneficial in the long run.

"Oh, wait," he heard, and with a gush of air, Wally was at his side again. "You probably want help, right?"

"No," Bruce stated, moving forward slowly. Each crutch was guided with careful accuracy, as he wouldn't stand for anything less from himself. The idea of collapsing onto the floor wasn't even a possibility.

"I don't mind," Wally nudged, inching forward with him.

"It's unnecessary," Bruce grunted, but he could feel the other rolling his eyes with annoyance.

"Look, Bruce," Wally sighed, gesturing towards the far-off stairs. "We'll be down here forever."

"You're exaggerating," was Bruce's dry reply, but the effect was ruined when Wally stole his left crutch, taking the arm that had been attached to it and looping it over his shoulder. Holding the bulk of Bruce's weight, he urged them along, and Bruce noted with a scowl that they began much more substantial progress.

"See?" Wally noted brightly, his grin seeming vastly inappropriate in the Batcave. "This isn't so bad, is it?"

"Wally…" Bruce took a breath, frowning darkly when he was interrupted.

"I know you're "The Batman," and you're supposed to be all tough and scary," Wally went on, cringing at the glower that was sent his way. "Not that you're not…tough and scary. 'Cause you totally are. But what I'm saying is, it's not that big a deal to need help sometimes. We're a team. We help each other out, you know, it's what we do."

"Plus, you're injured right now," he went on, pausing for a moment when they got to the foot of the stairs. He turned his head to Bruce, eyes serious beneath the mask. "It's just a one time thing."

Bruce narrowed his eyes, analyzing the scene he found himself playing a role in. Wally's concern was sincere, and there was no doubt about that, even though his suspicious nature kept him on guard in case it was faulty. But he wasn't a child, and he hadn't been one for an exceedingly long time. He refused to be babied in any manner, or underestimated for whatever reason. Even with part of him out of commission, he wasn't helpless, by any means.

Still, Bruce was used to being capable, mainly self-sufficient. Alfred had…had taken care of his basic needs; food, keeping the manor clean, deflecting attention. Losing him was enough of a vulnerability, and now he had to face a second one with the person least likely to allow him to brood with the black cards fate had dealt him.

Although, Wally was right. The Justice League was a team, even though Batman always had and always would prefer to work alone. He could recall plenty of times he swung into Metropolis when he felt his assistance was needed, and a bulging file on his computer noted each instance another hero appeared in his city to help, most of them uninvited. Batman had carried many injured teammates out of battle, but it wasn't an occurrence that was often reversed. He wasn't used to it, and he'd never like it, of that he was sure. But just for now, until he recovered, a minimal amount could be…tolerated.

"Bruce? Bruce!"

He cleared away his thoughts, turning his head to face Wally, who was looking at him with some concern. He'd obviously faded out.

"So…how are we getting up the stairs?" Wally questioned slowly, shifting their weight to his other side.

"One step at a time," Bruce suggested, using his remaining crutch to heave himself forward. Wally scrambled to keep up before they went toppling over. The process was excruciatingly slow and unsteady, and sweat was dripping down Bruce's face from the effort and the pain he refused to give in to.

"Okay," Wally finally interjected after they made it about halfway up. "Just, just listen for a second. I know it isn't the manliest way to go about this, but I could just carry-"

"You're pushing it," Bruce warned him, striding forward after shooting the other a deadly glance.

"But this is so slow," Wally all but whined. "It would take less than half a…"

Pausing, Bruce shifted his head until he was staring directly at Wally. Wally's mouth snapped shut as Bruce narrowed his eyes and glared.

"No," he repeated simply, threat hanging heavily in the air.

The two of them stood there for a moment, gazes interlocked until Wally swallowed and overcame his fright.

"Right," he repeated nervously, turning his head back towards the stairs. "No carrying the Batman."

Suddenly he let out a smile, laughing a little and shaking his head.

"Man," he sighed, grinning at Bruce before moving them forward again. "That's not something I ever thought I'd say."

Bruce grunted, focusing intently. No other words were exchanged until they reached the top, and Wally only then let out a shout of success. He accidently let Bruce's arm slip, not noticing the other toppling over until the agitated, "Wally!" grabbed his attention. In a blur, he had Bruce's arm back in place, securing it tightly with his hand.

"Heh. Oops?"

Bruce just kept himself from growling.

"So, where's the kitchen?" Wally inquired, just in time for the question to be reiterated by a grumbling from his stomach. His face flushed slightly in embarrassment, but it must've been enough of a common happening to keep his face from matching his blaring costume.

"On the right," Bruce directed, halting when Wally began moving them forward.

"What?" Wally asked, and Bruce shifted his line of sight to the stolen crutch in Wally's free hand.

"We're off the stairs," Bruce enlightened him stonily. "I think I can manage."

Wally stared at him for a confused minute before jerking Bruce's arm off his shoulder in comprehension. He handed the other the crutch, and Bruce took it quickly.

"Sorry, Bats," he offered, following Bruce while he treaded underneath the open archway that apparently led to the sought-after kitchen. Bruce didn't normally spend much time in the room. In earlier years, he had eaten in the formal dining room, the actual kitchen used to house the staff that had occupied the mansion. Once they were dismissed, leaving Alfred and himself, he would normally take his meals in the Batcave in front of his computer, using his time optimally. Now of course, that routine had been abruptly interrupted by someone with the attention span of a five year old.

"Alright!" Wally zoomed forward, opening various cabinets in a rush and coming away empty handed. Turning back to Bruce, he questioned, "Dude, what have you been eating?"

"Not much," he admitted. Alfred had been the one to remind him that eating was necessary to keep him going as he was normally too involved in his work. Without him there, he picked up small things where he could. He hadn't entered a supermarket or ordered food since Alfred had…passed. Batman didn't have the time for it with a city to protect, and hiring anyone else was simply unthinkable.

"You've got to stop phasing out on me," Wally interjected into his morbid thoughts. He was currently burrowed in the refrigerator, glancing at Bruce over his shoulder. When he went back to his search, Bruce maneuvered himself over to the small table that sat in the middle of the room, dropping into one of the chairs. Once he was no longer standing, a wave of exhaustion hit him. He fought it off, ignoring the striking pain in his legs and the burning in his arms from unaccustomed movement.

"Okay, here's what we got," Wally appeared again, dropping his hoard onto the tabletop. "Bread. Water. Some sort of…meat-type thing, but it looks okay so let's just go with it. I don't know, maybe it's ham or something."

He bent down to inspect his findings critically, pulling down his mask on the way. Glancing at Bruce with a raised eyebrow, he asked, "Does rich people ham look the same as normal ham?"

Bruce stared at him for a second, slightly incredulous.

"You're right. It doesn't matter," Wally beamed, and when Bruce blinked, eight sandwiches had been made with the meager supplies. "Ham can never be a bad thing anyway."

In another blink, Bruce had two sandwiches in front of him on a rapidly filled plate, as well as a glass of water on the side. Wally was just sitting down with his six sandwiches, plopping down into his chair lazily before focusing on his targets.

"I guess," Wally began, shoveling two sandwiches into his mouth before coming back for air. Bruce had his first in his hand, chewing a bite slowly and trying to keep his stomach from churning at the ravenous tornado sitting across from him. "I guess you don't cook much, huh?"

"Not really," Bruce divulged after swallowing, keeping to himself how good it actually was feeling to eat. When he was working, he ate pretty much on autopilot, not really tasting what was moving into his mouth since he had more important things to focus his attention on. Not that Wally's abruptly scrounged sandwiches were to be considered gourmet.

Wally gorged himself on another two sandwiches, a pitiful look growing on his face as he noticed his pile growing ever smaller.

"Me neither," Wally admitted, shrugging. "I'm more of a fast-food kind of guy."

"Interesting," Bruce replied with only a tiny trace of sarcasm.

"I usually go for the classic five burgers and seven fries," Wally continued commenting, eating his fifth sandwich with a mixture of rapture and regret. "Maybe a few shakes, depending on my mood, you know? What about you?"

Finishing his first sandwich, Bruce responded after taking a sip of water, "I'm not really into fast-food."

Wally paused with his sandwich halfway to his mouth, asking, "No way. You're kidding, right?"

Bruce shook his head silently, picking up his second sandwich.

"No way!" Wally repeated, seemingly shell-shocked, but not shell-shocked enough to keep from finishing that fifth sandwich and moving on to his sixth. "That's it, Bats. We're going, you and me. There's got to be a place around here somewhere."

Taking a moment to realize that the surrounding acres were owned by Bruce, he corrected, "Well maybe not here, here, but at least nearby."

At Bruce's undisguised look of skepticism, Wally went on, "Trust me. The entire thing is an experience."

"I thought I'm supposed to be resting," Bruce pointed out dryly, and Wally frowned a little.

"I didn't say we'd go right now," Wally grumbled a little, chomping somewhat sullenly on his last sandwich. After a few moments of that, he must've gotten bored with nothing left to eat and gestured towards Bruce's face.

"Do you ever take that off?"

Bruce looked up at the question, taking into serious note for the first time that Wally's own face had been fully bared for a while, red hair flattened from the mask. His own cowl was still firmly in place. He normally didn't even feel it; so much was it like a second skin.

Bruce usually despised removing his cowl in front of others, excusing Alfred or when a Robin was at his side. It was just a matter of security, not the paranoia that people often claimed or joked about. Identities were nothing humorous, because one glimpse of a face and madmen would be slicing the throats of loved ones within the hour.

However, even he had to admit that precaution was unnecessary and useless when the man was sitting at his kitchen table.

Dropping the remains of his sandwich, Bruce lifted the cowl off, shaking his head before placing it in his lap securely. When he looked back up, Wally was grinning.

"What?" he asked slowly, but Wally just shook his head, zipping up to throw out the trash from his meal.

"Nothing, it's just…" Wally shrugged helplessly, still grinning widely. "It's just kind of cool."

"Cool," Bruce repeated, waiting for an elaboration. Wally sighed noisily before trying to give him one.

"I mean, come on, you're Batman, and I'm standing in your kitchen eating sandwiches," Wally chattered. "I'm even staying in the Wayne Manor. The guys at work wouldn't believe me if I told them.

After a pause, he clarified, "The guys in the lab I mean, since the whole League probably knows I'm here by now."

"How do you have this much vacation time there?" Bruce abruptly asked, a question that had been on his mind since Wally had volunteered. Flinging himself back to lounge in his chair, Wally began explaining.

"It just stacks up," he said easily. "Central City has its share of bad guys, but they aren't like the ones you and Supes have to deal with, so I don't have to miss a lot of work taking care of them. Sometimes I miss for League business, but I don't have duty all the time, and there aren't that many problems that we need the whole team to deal with, right? Plus, I usually don't take too much time just in case something big happens, so I kind of just hold it on stand-by."

"Hm," Bruce replied noncommittally when Wally's eyes light up.

"Hey, Bruce," he started, leaning forward across the table eagerly. "Since that was pretty much the last of the food you've got, I'll have to go grocery shopping."

"Okay," the other nodded, mentally calculating how much he should give Wally to make sure he brought what was necessary without going obscenely overload. Just the thought of the type of food that Wally filled his own refrigerator with was enough for Bruce to mentally cringe.

"So I'll need to take a car…" Wally trailed off, eyes flickering towards the hallway that led to the Batcave.

"You're not allowed to take the Batmobile."

"Oh come on, why not?"

"The Flash is not going grocery shopping in the Batmobile. It'll raise questions."

"Yeah, questions like, 'Who's that awesome guy driving the-'"

"No, Wally."

"Aw, Bruce!"


End file.
